by Liz Carlyle
“The only thing that is obvious to me,” said Kate, as Edward joined her on the sofa, “is that you manipulated me tonight. And that your name is in ruins. So out with it, Mamma. I must save you from Uncle Upshaw somehow.”
“Oh, Archie!” Aurélie wrinkled her nose, and took another drink of the whisky. “He is bound to think the worst of me, regardless.”
“Mrs. Wentworth,” said Edward quietly, “I hope you won’t make me tell your daughter what happened in the rose garden tonight.”
Kate turned to glare at him. “Are you involved in this?”
“Unwittingly, I fear,” he said. “I do know significant sums of money have passed back and forth between Reggie and Sir Francis recently—and no small amount of scheming, it would now appear.”
“That I wouldn’t doubt,” muttered Kate.
“And tonight,” he continued, “I collect your mother managed to overhear a bit of that scheming?”
Kate shot her mother a dark look. “Aurélie,” she commanded, “out with it.”
Aurélie just shrugged. “There was some vile talk between them,” she finally said, “of attempting to compromise you. Reggie is in rather a snit that you’ve refused his proposal. He gave Sir Francis back the money he’d won at cards in exchange for a small service.”
“Ah,” said Edward. “So the point was, I gather, that Sir Francis would loudly burst in, pretending to be drunk, and discover, to his mock horror, that Reggie was in bed with Kate. And do so loudly enough to disturb everyone—particularly Lord Upshaw.”
“Alas, Katherine sleeps like the dead,” said Aurélie, shrugging. “He might have got away with it.”
His expression darkening, de Macey had settled on the end of Aurélie’s divan. “This is beyond the pale,” he said grimly. “Reggie imagined Upshaw would pressure Kate into marrying if she were compromised—but to do it with certainty, Reggie knew he needed the perfect witness.”
“And by that you mean Lady Julia, London’s most relentless gossip,” said Kate angrily. “It would have been dreadful, yes. But I would not have given in. Oh, Mamma! Why did you not simply tell me of Reggie’s plan?”
Her mother looked weary. “Because, mon chou, Reggie would never have given up,” she said. “Indeed, he still may not. But it is I who made the grave error of bringing him here, so it fell to me to fix it. No sane person could expect you to marry your mother’s castoff lover.”
“But what of you, Mamma?” Kate protested. “The scandal—the talk about Reggie—now you must face it. And face Anstruther, too.”
Aurélie gave another of her languid shrugs. “Eh bien,” she said. “He will never notice. And so I said to myself, Aurélie, you imbecile! You can easily bear one more scandal attached to your name! And so I did. I made a scandal. It is what I do well, n’est-ce pas?”
“Oh, Mamma!” Kate felt emotionally exhausted. “What will happen next?”
“Next?” Her mother lifted both eyebrows. “Next Julia will quiz me mercilessly. I shall maintain a stoic silence—after all, mon chou, half a story is always more intriguing than the whole. Thus thwarted, Julia will run back to London whispering her tale, and trying to find out from all our friends how long Reggie has been sharing my bed. And Reggie—well, he will give up, or so I pray.”
“So we all pray,” said de Macey doubtfully.
“Mamma, you ought never have done this,” Kate warned. “I confess to grave unease. I fear Reggie will take revenge on you now.”
“Bah! Reggie cannot trouble me!” said Aurélie with Gallic disdain. “What is he to say? The truth? That he tried to trap a dear friend into marriage? And by the most contemptible means imaginable? Non, mon chou, I think he will not admit to that.”
“My pet, you’re dangerously diabolical,” said de Macey, rising. “But I collect Katherine would like to scold you in private, so I will take myself off to bed. But on the morrow, I will be explaining to Reggie—and to Sir Francis—that our friendship is at an end.”
Aurélie uncurled herself and rose, too. “Filou will be missing me,” she said, covering a yawn. “Katherine, take back your bed now, and tomorrow you may scold me to your heart’s content.”
“Good night, Mrs. Wentworth. De Macey.” Edward had risen to open the door. “I trust you will both sleep well.”
“And you, too, Mr. Quartermaine,” said Aurélie suggestively as she passed. “You must be weary, too, what with all the exciting events of this night.”
EDWARD REALIZED THAT, under anything remotely akin to normal circumstances, no sensible person would have left Kate standing in her nightclothes with a gentleman who was half undressed himself—and a gentleman who had a less than stellar reputation in the bargain.
But nothing about this night had been normal—nor was de Macey or Aurélie, come to that. At present, however, he was more concerned about Kate. She had been suffering under no small amount of strain, he realized, what with her sister’s elopement, and a houseful of guests cutting up her quiet life, topped off by Lord Upshaw’s censure and now Reggie’s betrayal.
And then there was her entanglement with him. Yes, perhaps he, too, shared some of the blame.
Kate was pacing back and forth across her parlor carpet now, the matronly wrapper whipping at her ankles each time she turned.
“This is dreadful,” she said sharply. “I could throttle Reggie! And what can Mamma have been thinking? How am I to calm Uncle Upshaw now? This, on top of Nancy’s elopement?”
Edward edged nearer. “Kate, I think this is just your mother’s way of trying to help.”
“Trying to help?” Kate jerked to a halt, and turned to him, incredulous. “In what way does this help any of us? If Anstruther had any love left for her, this will have ended it. And now I must try to convince Uncle Upshaw his sister-in-law is not insane. And Nancy—! Nancy just married the village rector! I have taken such pains to see that gossip did not taint her! Mamma simply didn’t stop to consider how ugly this would look. And to have done it on my account? No. No, Edward. This is madness.”
She resumed her pacing, and Edward followed her to the window. Her pensive posture put him in mind, strangely, of the way she had been looking through the drawing room window the first time he’d kissed her. He remembered that day now, in this poignant and dangerously charged moment—perhaps with good reason.
“Kate,” he said, settling a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Your mother is cut to no ordinary pattern, it’s true. But she’s being a parent in the only way she knows how.”
“Then why doesn’t she learn better?” Kate cried, spinning around. “Why, Edward? Did Nancy and I not deserve it? How hard can it be?”
“Harder than you might think,” murmured Edward.
But Kate stood rigidly by the window, shaking her head. “Then one finds a way,” she gritted. “When you have children, you have obligations. You raise them. You watch over them, and teach them how to go on. But Nancy and I never had a normal family. We have never been … parented, if that is a word, in any ordinary fashion. We have always suffered Mamma’s antics and Papa’s neglect. And I am sick of it.”
“Kate, you’ve just suffered a shock, that is all.” He tried to set an arm around her shoulders but she threw him off. “You’ve had a brush with public ruin. You didn’t realize the depths to which Reggie might stoop—nor did I, for that matter.”
“I appreciate your effort to explain this away,” she said a little stiffly. “But all I can think of is the fact that Nancy and Richard will be back tomorrow, and that we have a dozen of our neighbors coming to celebrate their marriage—and all people will be talking about is how the bride’s mother got caught in bed with her sister’s former fiancé.”
“Richard’s reputation will weather it, Kate,” Edward said calmly. “And perhaps it won’t even get out?”
She turned on him then. “Secrets always get out,” she said a little bitterly. “Always. Scandals cannot be contained, no matter what subterfuge we engage. Do not kid yourself on that sco
re, Edward.”
A sudden coldness settled over him then, and he had the distinct impression they were talking about something a good deal more dire than her mother.
He went to the sideboard and pensively poured another whisky, though the last thing he needed was another drink. But he did need time. Time to think. To calculate.
Good old Ned, he thought. Always figuring the odds.
Kate was still standing at the window, staring out into the dark of night, practically vibrating like a tuning fork, radiating anger over something that had been, in his opinion, pretty damned clever, so far as complete and utter checkmates went.
“Edward,” she said, her voice flat. “Earlier tonight you said … you said that we might have to have more than an arrangement. That you were not careful.”
“I did, yes.” He turned uneasily from the sideboard, certain now that her rage ran deeper than Aurélie’s antics.
“What did you mean by it?” Kate was still staring at the glass, her arms crossed.
“I don’t think it has anything to do with what just happened, Kate.” He willed his voice to be calm as he felt his way through the minefield. “We’re talking about your mother. Aren’t we?”
“Nonetheless, I wish to know,” she said. “God forbid, Edward, if I were to find myself with child, what would you do?”
“I would do the right thing.” He watched her reflection warily in the glass. “And God help you, Kate. But what else could I do?”
“Yes, it would be frightfully awkward, wouldn’t it?” she said, dropping her voice. “I am Baroness d’Allenay, not a nobody. You could not hide me away in the country on some small annuity, and see your child once a year, could you?”
“Well.” He set his brandy down with a harsh thunk! “Well, Kate. It sounds as if we need to have a serious discussion.”
She whipped around at that. “Do we, Edward?” she asked sharply. “Do we really?”
He held up one hand, but he felt his ire rising fast. “Kate, you invited me down here tonight,” he reminded her. “I have tried, my dear, to keep my distance.”
“Yes, you’re quite right,” she whispered. “You’re a weakness for me, I won’t deny it. From the very first, I have been unable to resist wanting you and craving the pleasure you give me. Even when I knew I ought not.”
“And you ought not?” he said coldly. “Thank you, Kate, for announcing the obvious with such an air of discovery. Of course you ought not. I ought not. And yet we did. And we continue to. And yes, if the worst should happen, you would damn well marry me—and rue the day, I do not doubt. But that, my dear, is the risk we run. Did you not grasp that?”
“I did not,” she said, “until it dawned on me that, in such a case, our child would be, at the very least, heir to the d’Allenay barony.”
He closed the distance between them then. “Now, just wait a damned minute,” he said, his hand seizing her wrist. “That sounded like an ugly accusation. Tell me exactly what this is about.”
“This is about Annabelle Granger,” she said, “and I think you know it. Now, will you kindly relax your grip on my wrist?”
He let go as if she’d exploded into flames. “Well, if this is about Annabelle,” he snapped, “then why didn’t you just say so?”
Her lips thinning, Kate just shook her head. “It wasn’t,” she admitted. “Not at first. But now? Yes. Yes, I want to know what your relationship is with her.”
“I am … her godfather, of sorts,” he said gruffly.
“And are you her actual father?” There was a hint of a challenge in her question.
For a long moment, he weighed telling Kate to go to hell. But it was not an unreasonable question. Not for a woman who, as she pointed out, might be carrying his child.
“In confidence?” he finally said.
She hesitated. “Yes. In confidence.”
“I am not,” he said tightly.
Her gaze faltered. “And what if I do not believe you, Edward?”
He shook his head. “Then that is your choice, Kate,” he said. “Like everyone else, you may choose what you think. You may choose to think me Annie’s father or Annie’s savior or Annie’s rich Uncle Croesus. I generally do not trouble myself to clarify the issue. Because it matters just about this much”—here he gave a sharp snap of his fingers—“what other people think of me.”
“But don’t you think you should have shared her existence with me?” Kate demanded. “I mean, after all we have been—” Her words jerked to a halt, her face heating.
“Been to one another?” he finished, a bitter smile curling his mouth. “Kate, your desire for me might as well be mud on your shoe, as pleased as you are to have it.”
“That is not what— Why, how can you—” She jerked to a halt, blinking. Then she shook her head. “I am sorry. You’re quite right. This is none of my concern.”
“I did not say that, Kate,” he coldly countered. “I think we can make an argument that it is very much your concern. But don’t put words in my mouth, and do not dare call me a liar.”
She tore her gaze from his and turned. “I wish I didn’t want you so desperately,” she whispered.
“I can accommodate that,” he said. “Say the word. I can be out from under your roof in ten minutes. But be very sure, Kate, that you understand who you’re angry at, and why.”
“I am angry at myself,” she said. “Of that I am very, very sure.”
There came a long moment of silence then, the night so still Edward could hear a clock ticking in the next room. He felt thwarted and angry and insulted—but most of all, he felt deeply wounded. Damn it, did he never learn his lesson on that score?
“I shall remove to Heatherfields tomorrow,” he said tightly, turning toward the door. “I beg your pardon, Kate, for any offense I’ve given.”
“Heatherfields is not habitable,” she said, still looking out the window.
“Heatherfields will do,” he retorted, jerking the door wide. “I spent too many years in the army to be put off by a dripping roof and a couple of rats. Good night, Kate. You will send word to me at Heatherfields or in London should the worst occur.”
“Ah, yes. The worst.” Her voice was distant; almost disembodied. “Thank you, Edward, for making that plain.”
“You’re welcome,” he returned—just before he slammed the door.
CHAPTER 17
Lady d’Allenay’s Advice
to the Lovelorn
With her daily workbook carefully angled into a shaft of morning sunlight, Mrs. Peppin adjusted her reading glasses, then scribbled yet another line in the list headed Dinner Menu.
“Right, then, we’ve the sweets settled,” she said with satisfaction. “Now, for cheeses Cook has put out the Stilton and the Camembert. We haven’t aught else, miss, on such short notice.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” Kate murmured, her elbows propped on Peppie’s long table.
On a faint sigh, the housekeeper flicked a glance up to look across the table at her. “Miss Kate, do gather your wits,” she gently chided. “You’ve not spared two words for this menu and you know His Lordship be partic’lar about his cheese.”
“Sorry, Peppie.” Kate tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and sat more upright. “No, he likes Stilton well enough. But after last night …”
“Aye.” Mrs. Peppin’s nose wrinkled, cocking up one side of her glasses. “We could serve up his Stilton on a solid gold platter, and he’d been no better pleased.”
Having dashed straight downstairs after breakfasting alone in her room, Kate had given the housekeeper an abbreviated version of the previous night’s fiasco. Peppie had replied sharply that it was her dearest wish Lord Reginald Hoke should burn in the hot fires of hell. But more importantly, she had reassured Kate that although the commotion had indeed been overheard, the servants had put it down to the usual antics of Mrs. Wentworth’s friends.
“What a mess it all is, Peppie!” Kate propped her chin in her hand. “Has t
here been word from the rectory?”
“Mercy, yes! Jasper says Miss Nan come up on the first train,” said the housekeeper, “just as Mrs. Wentworth said she would.”
“I hope they will not mind coming to the dinner tonight.” Kate jerked herself upright again. “Has everyone accepted?”
“What, with the rector wed so hurry-scurry?” Mrs. Peppin snorted. “Oh, aye, they’ll all wish to eye Miss Nan’s belly. At least I can cross Lord Reginald off the list.” So saying, she leaned forward and drew a thick, black line over his name.
“De Macey has kindly ordered him to leave,” Kate murmured, “to spare me the embarrassment. And honestly, Peppie, it cannot be too soon.”
“Why, bless me, miss, but Lord Reginald left betimes,” said Mrs. Peppin. “Dressed for riding, he were, and carrying naught but a postmantle and his coat. Left his man upstairs, Jasper said, to pack his trunks and come arter.”
Kate exhaled with relief. “Well, thank God that’s over,” she said. “His valet may stay as long as he pleases. It’s Reggie I wanted shut of.”
Mrs. Peppin eyed her a little appraisingly across the table. “Well, seems we’re soon to have the house half empty, then, what with Miss Nancy wed and Mr. Edward gone.”
Something in Kate’s heart sank low indeed. “Has he gone?”
“Heavens, miss, well afore breakfast!” she said a little accusingly. “Did you not know? Off on that gurt black horse o’ his to stay at Heatherfields, he said, but how he’s to live there I’m sure I cannot think, for the roof leaks like a sieve, old Cutler what keeps the place be deaf a post, and Mrs. Cutler as slammickin’ a housekeeper as ever I knew.”
“Mr. Quartermaine assures me he’s not the least deterred by leaks or rats,” said Kate, “so I doubt Mrs. Cutler’s slatternly ways will much put him off.”
“Oh, miss!” Mrs. Peppin eyed her darkly across the table. “How, pray, is he to have his eggs the way he likes them?”
Kate arched both her eyebrows. “Why, how does he like them, Peppie?”
“Dry, miss!” said the housekeeper, as if it were the Christian way, “and his bacon the same.”